Ian Nottingham's Lady Sara of the Witchblade
by LadyOfTheBlade
Summary: Ian is torn between is two loyalities and comes to a conclusion. Before he goes through with his plans he needs to tie loose ends... Takes place the night before "Trancendence"


Note: I don't own rights to Witchblade in any way, shape, or form. 

I dedicate this story to those who hope and pray for better things in life and love. Young hearts run free, your life is short live it large and fantastically so that you can write about it later in life and marvel the world.

Ian Nottingham's Lady Sara of the Witchblade

The night was black, no moon shone through the shutters of the Irons' building. The tall, cold, unfeeling building he stood in was not so active as the city just after the sun fell from the sky beyond the horizon not too long ago. He was alone, and if only for a moment, not limited under his masters hand… Free...for now. The tension that laid on his shoulders was lifted if only for a few minutes. There was no light to witness his meditation or to illuminate it. But he didn't care, Ian Nottingham was accustomed to being in the dark. It was a part of him… Wistfully, he moved to the window and gazed through the blinds. The bright blaring lights of the city glowed like stars on the ground, out shining those in the sky, making them invisible. New York, the city that never slept, was hustling and bustling oblivious to the man who looked out on all below with utter despair.

In the absence of Kenneth Irons and his ever powerful presence, his mind without restraint roamed as he turned away from the window to sit on the floor against the wall not wanting to sit in a chair. He was a new person without any supervision, one that was practical, thoughtful unlike any of the other carnations he had been. Assassin, spy, bodyguard…they weren't part of the real man, only aspects of a creature created by a harsh life and blessed and curse with inhuman abilities. The Ian Nottingham here and now was free and gazed at the predicament with an outside judgment. 

'The events of late are dramatically changing the way things were,' Ian mused miserably taking down his hair, letting it be a curtain around his face. 'It could have been simple…but fate tests all those who believe to be strong. God…I have a mighty war raging around me that the other citizens of New York would never know of until a death brings all eyes to see. Who will be the victor? My master or her? Worse yet… who will perish?… No!' Ian mentally growled, 'I won't think of that now…not when I don't have to…'

At once, in an effort to lift his spirits, Ian's thoughts came to _her_: his enemy, his heart's desire and mystery.. Before Ian had met her face to face, he had his doubts. According to Irons, all other would-be blade wielders are power hungry, greedy and egocentric: easy to control. But this notion was flipped upside down when he saw her, and Ian Nottingham hasn't been the same…and he didn't know why. 'It's not that Sara is beautiful, although she is very much and it makes me wish I were like any other man. It's something hardly indescribable. The aura encircling Sara was unlike any other. Being close to her, I can feel a presence. There is something in her that no one else has…whatever it is, it demands my attention and whole allegiance to her…something I cannot completely give.'

'But why should I?' He argued in meaningless defense digging deeper into the deconstruction of Lady Sara. 'Born and conditioned to the hard streets of New York, is that any way for a chosen guardian? She has her faults…an insuperable and wild temper, an unrestrained soul, and the will to defy a threatening force as great or greater then she. Traits hardly worthy of the title "Lady" as Mr. Irons would think', Ian glowered running a hand through his hair, loose over his down cast face. 'That's not so. Lady Sara lives with such passion and intensity that it commands respect like that of an age long forgotten when honor was not a tradition kept by an exiguous few. New York made her see the likes of the weak and strong clashing together, needing a mediator. Homicide detective Sara Pezinni of predict 11 of the NYPD, her title, from the way she carries it, sounds like christen decoration. She developed skills as a police officer to cut the strong down and empower those who need it, that was no kind of false virtue. Is that what draws me to her?'

In his mind, Ian watched a frantic Sara risk her life, her badge and the Witchblade for Conchobar to either join him in death or walk away with him. 'Would any person ever do that?' With a pang bitter rage, he recalled how she swallowed her pride for the sake of love to his master, who Ian knew, Lady Sara despised so very, very much only to be denied… 'I came through for her, that time,' he sighed. 'I only wish I could have been sooner… Now Sara walks alone with no person to hold her when she can no longer stand.…Even if he did live till now the White Bulls would…' Ian left that thought trickle to oblivion knowing it lead to what he wanted to forget. 

'Or is it the Witchblade, that makes me act this way? …The controlling force in Sara's destiny as the wielder of the gauntlet, would I be protecting her because of that…because it commands me? Is that why?' Ian wondered into the empty room. 'Why would it want me? I have no true power…' his ungloved hand passed over the other catching on his ring, cutting him. Blood issued from it and flowed into the lines of his palm. 'Perhaps not…' Dimly he realized that he cut the same hand that Sara had slashed open by himself.

'Or…is it only Sara? …She is a combination of the blade, honor, and modern female empowerment, all the elements he had gone over…could that be what smoldered his heart? And under all the smoke, mirrors, and personal layers, she is a woman…and I am a man…' a warm wave of an emotion that he could only identify as Sara swept over him.

"Ian," A voice called out tiredly. "I am retiring. You may do what you like…" he paused, "Within reason…"

***

The wind blew cutting all visible flesh with its icy tendrils. He didn't mind the cold, although it was very uncharacteristically freezing for a New York midsummer night. The weather reports spoke of rain, the night owls apparently were paying attention to the warning. The streets were not over run with people scurrying like ants, they were mostly vacant save for a few homeless. It was just the way Ian liked it.

'Where is she now?' he thought, looking down at it all from the top of an apartment complex on 46th street. The wind died down for a moment, dropping his hair and long black coat from its grasp, as if it wanted help him think better. 'I know she can take care of herself but how long will it be before exhaustion gets the better of her…'

Turning away he leapt to the next building roof. 'I wonder if she will hold up under such pressure for longer then thus far. Sara has exceeds my ideals every passing day but like any person or any warrior, she needs rest. How must it feel to once have a secure home to have it no longer safe for you?' Not far from where he stood was her tenement. The only place in all of the city she use to feel secure in at one time, before the Witchblade. He knew that by the way she use walked in it… In the back of his head he wondered if she would be there, the most expected place… it would be so predictable that the White Bulls would not care to go in their man hunt for her. 'It's a hideout crazy enough to work…'

It was all too easy for him to get in with the aid of a broken window, that was already there. He let his eyes adjust to the utter darkness after the blinding glow of the street lights and neon signs. This was only his second time in her apartment alone, now with time to lose, Ian let himself take it in.

The apartment was modest, expectable for an officer's pay. Everything was left unmoved from the last time she was there no doubt. 'Sara is not one for house work,' Ian mused with a faint grin as his eyes followed a trail of clothes on the floor to the corner her bed was closest to. Her bed was unmade and looked as if it was slept in it that way many times. A cream colored couch was one of the few large pieces of furniture, next to the bed and a bookshelf. He wondered idly if she had the money to buy enough furniture would her flat be this conservative. All she needed was a recliner, a dog and…it would be an exemplary model of a modern single home. 

In front of the couch was a little coffee table cluttered with picture frames. Sara had been prone to move and rearrange them from time to time but they were always the same frames and most likely the same pictures. Kneeling, Ian gazed at the gallery of smiling faces. He hadn't taken the time to look at them before. Each were put into simple wooden frame that was accompanied by a few candles. 'She knows how to decorate at least..' The first picture was of a family in a standard portrait. A tall man in a NYPD uniform stood next to a slight beauty with long black hair. The woman had her arms around a little girl with pigtails who held her father's hand. 'This must be her family, she is very lucky to have had one at least…. She bears no resemblance to either of them…' They were all so happy… oblivious to the dark future that would tear their happiness to shreds.

Beside the portrait was the man and the little girl, only both were a few years older. With age the man received small wrinkle lines and a sad gaze. The girl, Sara, was about seven and all smiles enveloped in her father's arms by a motorcycle. The term "daddy's girl" seemed too weak to describe the sort of bond Ian noticed between them. 'Officer Pezinni was all she ever depended on.. It's little wonder that she hasn't little feminine bearing. He must have had quite a chore in raising her…'

The next few were snap shots of Sara and her deceased partner Danny Woo. One was a comical scene. Sara had her head turned away, as if avoiding the camera, Danny had his arm around her and was grinning ear to ear. The other was both of them feigning sleep in the squad car, Sara was the one to be giving a grin not quite into the acting of sleep as Danny. The last was only Danny. 'You must have known her well…' Ian thought to the picture as if it could respond. 'You were partners for four years. Pity Officer McCarty isn't as trustworthy as you.'

The last few frames were recent. Conchobar giving a toast to the holder of the camera with Sara on his lap her arm around her neck, so naturally. It was a surprise that it already had a place on her coffee table surrounded by older pictures with older memories. Nottingham gave a weak smile at the simplicity of the photos. Nothing but images, yet they were there for anyone to refer to at anytime. Conchobar was a live and in her arms for anyone to see at anytime, like some sort of proof. 'She loved him so. Lady Sara has suffered so much…' Ian only looked at it for a moment longer, the stinging emotion of jealousy threatened to overthrow his serene scrutiny. Next to that was Sara and her beloved motorcycle both ready to take to the streets, stopped forever in time by film.

Turning away from the photos Ian stood up and noticed a guitar leaning against the wall, the drum set that had been there once was gone. He approached the piece of wood and even dared to pick it up. Even though it was an inanimate object, it looked as though it was unaccustomed to being put aside. 'Does she play?' he wondered running his hand over its smooth side.

Faintly, Ian heard a soft click, the sound of a hammer of a gun being pulled back. Nottingham smiled as a familiar presence fell over his senses. "Drop it you son of a b*tch or else!" growled a voice behind him. Carefully he put the guitar back and slowly turned around.

"Hello, Sara," he greeted softly as he put his head half down causing his hair to shift.

She only stared at him, as a seething does lioness with an intruding beast. Her eyes were like cold steel, unyielding, not giving a hint of her thoughts. The gun did not lower at his welcome. He didn't expect it to do anything else. Ian raised his eyes from the floor to the gun. It was in her left hand, supported by her injured right, if she would shoot she wouldn't hit her exact mark unless at point blank. With a pang, Nottingham felt guilt. Sara hadn't removed the bandage, meaning that the slash on her hand had not healed yet. "Don't give me that crap. What do you want? What the hell are you doing here?" she bristled. 

Ian could see that she was pushing herself beyond her physical limitations and was starting to pay for it. Dark shadows were beginning to form under her eyes. Although she did catch him by surprise he could see from lack of proper nutrition she wasn't holding out well. There was an imbalance in her stance, she had all her weight unconsciencly resting on one leg. Her hands were unsteady. It would be all to easy for him to subdue her, cut the Blade from her hand, then leave. So easy it made him imagine how much hurt to prevent himself from trying. He wasn't going to be anyone's servant… 'She needs sleep…' as the thought entered his mind, he was stricken with an idea.

"I came to talk to you Sara," he answered still at attention, in his standard rigid position.

"So talk, I don't have much time…" she snapped urgently looking at the door for a moment. "What is so important to be stopping me? You know if anyone comes we'll both probably pumped full of lead." 

"I…" 'How do I begin to put to words what isn't adequate to say at this time? How can I tell you of my life, Sara and what you have made it to be?' "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry we are enemies…" Ian began honestly plunging into unknown waters but speaking only the truth. As he spoke his hand reached into a hidden compartment on his belt behind his back. Luckily, the object he was searching for was still there. Inwardly he gave a sigh of relief. "If things were different we could be allies or more."

"Yeah, well I think I could forgive you sometime in the future but right now I'm kind of busy."

"I would imagine so. Perhaps you'd like to calm yourself before you continue your hunt for the White Bulls," he said, eyes downward.

A bitter grin was on her lips as she gave a forced laugh. "If I could I really wouldn't be here, it's almost nice you asked…" Sara lowered the gun a few inches and she squinted, skeptical to believe what she was hearing. "Did Irons send you?"

"No." He raised his head and took a step forward. "I came alone."

"Don't." Sara warned, the gun back to his chest level. "I would love to stay and chat but I need to get a few things and haul a$$ so if you could please just leave..." for a second she faltered, to try and save face Sara added, "I don't want to go out and buy bullets…"

"Are you tired, Sara?" Ian asked looking into her eyes.

Bewildered, she stared back. There was no suspicion. The average aura around her expanded, as if it were reaching out to him then felt as though it were on fire.

Time slipped forward and backward pulling at her painfully both ways. She saw a gunfire… A knife in a decrepit hand… Herself standing alone holding her blade to the sky… Blood flowing… A cold cruel face that she didn't recognize, that reminded her of someone, gave a mocking grin that made her stomach turn as he whirled on her in an advance attack… Ian Nottingham standing with his arms outstretched as the pictures of crucified Jesus did, it brought a feeling of fear and adoration… "I love you, Sara…" echoed in her mind as the seen played hitting her with these shocking images one by one . Sara shuttered and blinked. The moment was over.

Ian's eye brow furrowed. Unsure of what just happened to her. 'What had she seen that frightened her?

She tried to cover up her distribution from the vision but the thoughts were fresh in her memory and wouldn't be pushed back. "You know what? Yeah, I am tired. I'm tired of being afraid and running. I'm tired of the White Bulls breathing down my neck. I'm tired of Irons and you being some sort of spy slash lap dog…" she paused catching her breath and forcing back tears as well as the overload of feelings left by what the Witchblade had shown her. "I'm sick and tired of the whole damn world right now," with every word that left her lips Ian knew that he would be doing the right thing. "PLEASE, leave me alone, Nottingham. I'm dangerous as well as approaching insane. I know you don't have a death wish."

In the blink of an eye he crossed the distance between them. She didn't stand a chance against him. Ian grabbed her wrists and pulled them together. Under the pressure of his hold, the gun was forcing burden on her wounded hand. Sara let out a groan of pain and dropped the gun. Ian, as lightly as he could, kicked in the back of her knees making her kneel. Holding her still with his arms, he intern held her legs down by kneeling on the outside of them and using the weight of his calves to pin her. As fast as he could Nottingham pulled out a small dart, the liquid within swished and frothed from the movement. After tapping it once quickly to remove the air bubbles, Ian rolled up Sara's sleeve exposing the soft flesh of her arm.

"What the-? Let me go, Nottingham!" She shouted, struggling in vain under his mass. Ian plunged the dart into her inner elbow. She gave a hiss as she breathed in. Sara turned to him, looking up at him with a frantic gaze. "What did you just do?" Still she fought him.

Nevertheless holding her, but not so roughly, Ian answered, "It's alright, Sara. It's only a sedative, it's not strong enough to kill you. Calm down."

In a surge of strength she managed to brake away from him, and teetered to her feet swaying like a drunkard. "Oh, is that right? A tranquilizer?" she asked sarcastically. The dart, now empty, still stuck in her skin. Sara tore it out and threw it at Ian feebly. She missed her mark poorly, another sign the chemical was already at work. "Well, what will it do to me? How long to I have to live?"

"It won't kill you… It will enable you to sleep." Ian said softly looking at her in a way that she saw more and more often. 

"I'm-I'm getting dizzy…" Sara moaned putting a hand over her eyes, she fell into a chair. Frantically she tried to regain her stability. Shivers broke over her body. Sara lifted her head, she was falling fast into delirium. "I-I can't afford to sleep, Nottingham. I have to keep moving… You don't understand…" Her eyes were wide and frightened like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"I understand perfectly, Sara. Don't fight it. The tranquilizer will give you side effects if you do," Ian moved closer to her. He could see it working. Sara's focus was blurred and she was swaying side to side. Just to be save put the gun 

"Why-why are you doing this for me?" she whispered, eyes half closed. "You're my enemy…are you not? Why are you helping me?"

He kneeled placing his hands, one over the other, on her knees. "Because you mean everything to me…" Ian Nottingham returned saying at last what he always wanted. "You make me wish so much that things were different… I want more then anything is to be close to you and to please you…"

Sara managed to pull herself forward, her hands gripping the chair for support. She forced her blue eyes to remain open as she spoke. Nottingham looked helplessly into hers as Sara's breath brushed over his face. Eyes that were capable of being so cold and cruel were gentle and sad as if recalling something long forgotten. "I could…almost…believe you…Ian…" she muttered. At last the sedative had circulated completely through her blood. Sara's eyes slid shut and she fell forward into Ian's arms.

He blinked hard in disbelief as if he were waking. 'It could only be a dream…' when Ian opened his eyes the scene didn't change. He was still in Sara's apartment. It was real. Still Sara's sleeping form was draped around him, her breath brushing his neck and hair. Ian's own breath was caught in his throat. Slowly he brought his arms around her, still she remained and didn't disappear into star dust as his other dreams had. It was real.

"Oh, Sara," he whispered in a shuttering breath when he was convinced it wasn't a fantasy. "Why do I have to choose between you, who owns my soul, and Kenneth Irons, who owns me? In a perfect world there would be no choice…but in that same world, I would not exist to be with you."

"But really, is there any choice? There is you, and without you I would still be some sort of mechanical soldier… a lap dog as you put it," Ian said forcing a smile through his pain.

"I-I don't think I can fight between you anymore. Saying that I deny Irons is a death sentence, I know, but I can't stand not being loyal to only you when you deserve my admiration more then anyone I could give it to."

"I want it to end. I'm tired as well. If I cannot be with you as I long to, death would be the only other option. Perhaps in the next world I can be with you everywhere." His eyes watered.

"I know you can't hear me… but… did you know that I have never talked to anyone like this? Ian the servant does not know how…he was the man inside me who murders. Ian the guardian, your Ian, is the soldier who lives for your benefit… A few nights ago, there was a battle in my sleep. I saw them both fight tooth and nail…in the end Ian the servant was weakest. He is dead, only your Ian remains. Irons may not know it but soon he will."

Sara shifted in his embrace. Her head curled under his chin and her shoulder against his chest. Her long legs pressed themselves against his side. Startled, Ian didn't move till she stopped. He only breathed. Gently, as slowly as he could, Ian cradled her in his arms, picked her up and carried her to the bed. Gingerly, he set her on her side. Sara shivered and brought her arms around herself in sleep. She didn't move again, had it not been for her heart beat and breathing, he would think she was dead.

'I shouldn't have given her so much. She would have slept with only a few drops, but I want her to get at least nine hours of sleep.' Nottingham for a long while just stood there, taking in the sight with to most a greedy extent almost unwilling to blink afraid that in the second he looked away, she would be gone. In the dim light of the room a peace had settled, it felt like home to the man who had never known it. 

"Sara?" someone called out in a semi-whisper. Ian whirled around to see Jake McCarty with shock written all over his face. Ian stood in front of the bed and McCarty's view of Sara. Jake rushed forward to her but Ian acted as a brick wall. Jake tried to move around him, but the man in black moved as well blocking the way. "What did you do to her?"

"She is fine, Officer McCarty. Leave, her to me and go." Ian answered.

"Like hell I would." He snapped and turned his attention to the prone body of his partner. "Sara! Sara-!" Jake began to yell but he was cut short by a punch to his gut by Ian. 

Grabbing the officer up by the collar of his shirt to eye level, "You are not wanted here, White Bull. Leave before I'm tempted to end your life."

McCarty swallowed hard, his nerve cut down but not yet diminished. "Can I see if she's still alive?"

Unwillingly, Ian put the rookie down and allowed him to approach Sara. To McCarty it looked suspicious enough to be called anything and everything from a murder to a rape. Jake lifted a hand up to her neck to check for a pulse. "Don't touch her," he growled moving close behind him ready for any false moves.

Jake transferred his hand in front of her mouth and nose, air touched his hand more then once, and she was alive… at least. Satisfied in the slightest, McCarty moved away. "She's alive, but if you do anything to her I'll-"

"Shoot me dead with one of your engraved bullets… I know," Ian threatened mockingly. "Leave now."

"She better still be breathing by tomorrow," Jake said backing away slowly.

"Sara will be alive and well, I can promise you that." Ian retorted coldly.

"We'll settle our score some other time then, Nottingham," Jake closed the door behind him. 

Not long after McCarty was gone, Ian once again was at Sara's side. He removed both gloves placing them in his pocket. His ring remained on, its weight was a comforting presence. His hands hovered over her face but he couldn't bring them to brush against her skin. Nottingham swallowed. Cautiously, for what reason he wasn't sure, Ian brought himself to run his hand over her hair. It was soft and warm beneath his fingers. "It isn't right to touch you, without permission, but…I feel I may never live to get it as well as your trust, Lady Sara." He brushed away her hair from her serene face. Ian noticed that Sara's lips held a shadow of a smile. He couldn't help but have one of his own. "It's a comfort to know that you are sleeping pleasantly…Sometimes I get your nightmares.. I don't know why. But I do think it's a crime that you are often plagued with such images."

A hand that was tucked close to her moved out to him, palm up. It was wrapped in a blue bandanna with a purple stain showing through at the center of the makeshift bandage. Ian slowly loosened the tie to see an open cut in her hand. It was fairly deep, a thin layer of skin trying to grow over it was much too fragile to protect the wound. He guessed that it was too often Sara was forced to use it. When it would heal, the cut would leave a scar, any deeper and Nottingham would have slashed to the bone. 'I did that… If I could do that much damage to Sara's hand, think how much I could do with as an enemy…' Guilt rose in his throat. He busied himself in mending it. "I didn't mean to give you so deep a cut. I hate myself for it. If I didn't you could have been safe, that alone is a reason why I should die." 

Has he lightly held on to her wrist, his ring touched the Witchblade. A tone like, as though someone had plucked a random cord on a piano, sounded on a higher plane of existence. A feeling like that of falling backwards rushed through him stealing away his breath. Down, down, down. Ian opened his eyes to find that he was no longer at Sara's apartment. 'It was a dream…' Utter disappointment flooded his senses. 

"Does thou doubt thyself so much, Mortal Ian Nottingham?" a voice asked echoing for miles on the odd could plain he stood in.

"Who are you? Where are you?" he asked dazed at the pace of how things had changed. 

"You do not know?" the voice repeated, then warped and became a woman's voice. "I suppose I must show thee then…" From the swirling gray mist a figure stepped forward.

"What?" 'Sara?' His thoughts were thrown out into a million places at once.

"I am not thy Lady Sara, Good Mortal Ian. Though I appear as her, and speak with her voice, I am not whom say, but only a part of her." The woman answered. She was clad in shining silver armor that was polished enough to reflect all light even though she glowed herself. Draped about her shoulders was a dark red cape that blew in the wind of the strange place. Now that he looked hard, the woman's eyes were a dark gray like stone, proving what she said was true. Ian stepped forward. "Hold. I cannot let thou pass until I have told thee the purpose for which you have been brought here."

Ian could not think of what to say. His training told him not to be fooled but his instincts advised him to listen well. To keep back his decision to make, "Why do you call me good?"

"Thou art an impressive man, no matter what ye may think. If you were unworthy of the title, thou would have been cold in thy grave long ago. In mine, Sara's, discretion thou art commendable enough to be called so." The woman said. "Do not disbelieve my judgement."

'Who is this woman? How does she know such things? Do I dare to ask?' he reflected confused.

She tossed her Sara resembling hair and gave an amused smile, "'Tis not a sin to show curiosity… The serpent, Kenneth Irons fails to see how much of a Lancelot thou could be under the right direction, thou could have been such a knight, had you been born a different time, Ian. Who am I you ask? I go by many names and have looked like the same person forever. To thee and few others of this mortal era I am known as the Witchblade."

"You are…the Witchblade?" he echoed amazed and skeptic, still trying to maintain a cool unconcerned manner.

"Yes, I am. And I have foreseen what thou plan to do after thy visit with the Lady Sara." The woman looked into Ian's eyes boring into his soul. Lying was not an option.

"You know I mean to end my existence?" Ian asked, shocked to the point he staggered back a step. "I have never told anyone…or even spoke of it."

"I do, know. I do not have to be told to gain knowledge on this earth, I merely exist and obtain insight. Thy soul is a thread that is linked to me and woven tightly with the others whose destiny runs across mine. I have known for a long while of your plot. Gallant Ian, that is one of the noblest and most tragic ways a man can die, for one they value over himself ," the Witchblade whispered. "It will mean a lot to thy Lady Sara. There art only a precious few whom she and I can rely upon. Be comforted to know thou art one of them."

Winded, Ian was at a loss for words for sometime, his eyes stung. 'No one…nothing… has ever told me such a thing…' He did mean to perish for Sara, knowing that he would not be used against her… and the Witchblade approved of him. It would mean a lot to Sara…she said. 

'How would she feel when I'm gone?' he had never considered it before. 'Others closer to her then I have died this year and Sara fell into a depression… will the same happen when I am gone?' Deep down in the depths of himself, he secretly wished she would. In his minds eye a picture was drawn of her crying rare tears of sorrow. Would she not eat or sleep for days if he were gone? With that image, a backlash of notions came too. Sara wouldn't be fit to fight all those who are out to get her. Easily she would perish too, not emotionally strong enough to fight. That would all happen because he would want her to miss him, 'a cruel thought for one who claims to love her….' Ian berated himself swallowing a sob that threatened to leave from him. 'If she does become sorrowful from my loss will she be strong enough to kill Irons?' Curiosity clawed at him. 

"Will…Lady Sara, I mean...will she be in pain when I cease to live?" Ian inquired aloud, the lack of confidence in his tone was more then he wished to allow. "She will not be too daunted to fight?"

With her Sara like lips, the Witchblade frowned. "Forgive me but I cannot reveal such things, Mortal Ian." Her gaze softened when Nottingham allowed a sigh to slip past his guard. "Hear this now, do as you please and comfort in the knowledge that I will ever be in control of what fate befalls you. I cannot promise happiness, but I will give to thee a satisfying pattern in my woven web of fate."

A smile found its way across Ian Nottingham's face. "Again…I know not how to answer, Lady Witchblade. I am in your depth for allowing me to be around Sara.…"

"That is why I have brought thee into Wielder Sara Pezzini's mind. I have come to let thee see her and give thy last thoughts. As noble as thy current attempt is, you will not truly be able to get to her by talking to her in her slumber. Thou are worth more then a confession to once who cannot hear it."

Again, Ian Nottingham could not hold in his mystification. "How?"

"Thou art as intriguing as she thinks," she muttered softly. Before Ian could ask or even think, a smile once again was on the Lady of the Witchblade's face and she spoke once more. "By the means of a dream, one of mine few effective means of communication with Sara."

She paced as she explained, the sword at her hip clattered against her armor in time with Ian's heartbeat. "Unfortunately, thou cannot go in thine own form, but at one period of the dream I will make it so that she can see who thou really are, Mortal Ian. I will allow thee to remember thy time with her, my gift to thee for thy loyalty but you will not remember meeting me when you wake for protection, should my plans go sour." The Lady of the Witchblade stopped, letting her words sink in.

"I am…honored you would allow me to do this, Lady Witchblade," he said softly, unsure of how to return such a privilege.

The Witchblade smiled, the shifting of her moods thrilled him as though he really were with Sara. "The pleasure is mine… I shall keep let thee keep thy own mind throughout the dream but what thou say will be altered and advised by mine self. Be cautious of what you say, if thou art too lengthy with words she will not likely to remember all of what is said. Good Luck, Noble Ian." 

She moved as though to leave but she turned to face him again. The Lady lifted her right gauntlet in front on her heart and bent her head down: a salute! In return Ian found himself bowing facing the swirling mist that hid the ground he stood on. She stepped forward. With a cold, yet at the same time, warm armored hand, she tilted up his chin, her eyes were sad and clouded like a rain ready sky...so much like a mourning Sara facial cast. "Thou art admitted here because thou art trusted…" The warrior woman pulled away slowly gliding back without moving her feet. "Do not mishandle this chance!" The Lady of the Witchblade was gone into the mist once more with a crash of thunder and burst lightening. 

Ian blinked.

The gray limbo melted away to a cave. An awful smell of brimstone and sulfur wafted in the air. A light shone ahead in the shape of a door. In the brightness stood a silhouette. Ian was amazed at how vivid everything was. He could hear everything. The breathing and heartbeat of the person at the entrance of the cave and the whisper of rustling clothing, a drop of water falling from a stagtites into a puddle below, the call of a bird on the wind, the pitter pat of an insect scuttling… His sense of smell was amplified as well. Ian could smell a distant fire and the scent of a…woman.

"Is anyone there? Hello?" the call bounced off the walls of earth and stung his ears as the echo magnified the noise.

He would know that voice anywhere! 'Lady Sara!' Ian's heart jumped in his chest and beat loudly in his ears which perked as she began to walk forward. Ian shook with anticipation.

She approached, rocks and stones crushed under her feet giving away the location of her step with a mere crunch. With her, Sara brought a lantern. The ring of light was small, but Ian was able to see very well. She was a vision in a dark emerald green dress. Sara was absolutely beautiful and Ian was stricken silent by the sight of her. Helplessly tied with words he watched her pick her way through the rocks.

"Where is it?" she muttered.

"What are you seeking, Maiden?" a voice rumbled. Ian was alarmed to find it was his own.

Sara jumped, her lantern quivered in her hand the only visible sign of fear. Stepping forward she called out, "Who is there?"

'It's just Ian Nottingham,' he wanted to answer but his lips did not move. The Witchblade was right, when she said she would monitor what he said. 'Apparently I am not to reveal myself yet.'

'As of this moment, thou art not truly Ian Nottinham and Sara Pezzini is not truly herself. Let the dream take its course, thou wilt know when to reveal thyself,' A voice whispered in his mind. 'Continue, I am still in control…'

"A friend, Milady," his gruff voice answered. "What is it that you search for?"

"I-I don't know," Sara told him. "I just know that I need to find it soon or else…" She drew nearer. The light of the lantern fell on him at last. Sara gasped. "My God! You're a dragon!"

Ian looked down at his hands that were huge scaly fists the color of charcoal. His disguise was flawless. He had talons instead of fingernails. Ian turned behind him to see that he took up most of the cave with his long tail and open black wings, he gave them an experimental flap. A gust caused Sara step back into a rock to remain standing it was no small wonder, Nottingham's body was the size of an eighteen-wheeler Mack truck. He closed his wings when the idea that it would not be best to break them when he hasn't used them. 'That explains why I have enhanced senses,' he thought. 

"I admit I am a dragon, but I mean you no harm, Milady." Ian managed to maneuver his body to make it bow. "A beast cannot help but be a beast when that is what they are brought up to be…" 

She was not certain, but moved closer. "I was told that your kin are not real."

"Reality is a sort of fantasy," Ian found himself saying lowering his body to a sitting position with his head at the level of her height.

"Are you here to keep me ransom, then? I warn you I'm not a damsel in distress." Sara whispered, clearly afraid and showing it. At her wrist the Witchblade sprang out, but evaporated as soon as it had meaning there was no true danger.

"Neigh. I am not here for nefarious deeds. I come to invite you to a gathering of beasts." He answered. "Because you are afraid but you are trusting enough to speak with a dragon."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Sara scoffed. Ian was amused to find that she was defiant in her subconsience as in real life.

"Not many have, only mortals who are deemed worthy may go. And, milady are most worthy of that honor." Ian returned. "An evil dragon would have done different." 

"This is unbelievable…" she whispered stepping closer. Sara lifted a trembling hand to Ian's scaly snout and stroked its length. To Ian the contact was as though she was massaging an extremely tight muscle that needed to be loosened for eons. A rumbling from his throat filled the cave, Sara gave a laugh of surprise, "I didn't know dragons could purr…" He moved his head to gently rub against her shoulder. 

Ian closed his eyes, as Sara willing accepted his touch. Her arms encircled his head in what would have been an embrace if she her arms could have reached the large distance around him. Her hands were warm making everything else feel like ice. 'Dream or not… this is the best moment of my life, when I wake, I will be able to die happy…'

"I trust you, Dragon, because you have a gentle soul that glimmers like your scales." She murmured no longer afraid. "Could you help me find what I'm looking for?"

"Time grows near, we must depart," said Ian's voice as he pull away . 

"But I haven't found it yet!" she huffed impatiently. "How will I be able to live without it?"

"You are looking in the wrong place," Ian replied. "What you seek can only be found when you are not searching…"

Sara considered his words as she bit a corner of her lip. "I'll go with you then…" She ran ahead of the cave and waited in the light. Slowly, unsure of where the Witchblade's dream would lead, he followed.

The sun was a blow to his sensitive eyes. He almost believed it was the real thing. Wind rustled the tall grassy field that outstretched to a faraway forest behind which was a cradle of mountains encasing the cozy valley. It was all so realistic. White clouds floated past the sun making shadows on the field. A scent of rain was very tangible as was the sweeping song of a lark. The only thought that brought him back to reality was the absence of all things modern. No skyscrapers, no taxis, no traffic, no houses or vendors, no pollution, no guns, no corporations… 

No Kenneth Irons, a thrilling and chilling thought. Yes, this was a dream.

The sight of Sara's blowing emerald dress brought him back to the moment at hand, "Is the gathering of beasts far? How will we get there?"

"Would the lady enjoy a ride?" Ian asked lying down on all fours to her height. His chin touching a patch of green but his eyes level with hers. "Flying will get us there sooner then a trek on foot… On my honor as a dragon, I will not let you fall if that concerns you."

Slowly, Sara stepped onto a raised paw that acted as a step ladder to the base of his long serpentine neck where she sat. Her weight was next to nothing to Ian's massive dragon guise. The only thing that reminded him that she was there was the touch of her hands on his skin. Cautiously, he rose and made sure that his movements would not shake Sara off.

She sensed his wariness and gave a little laugh. "You really are not like other dragons. How can this be?"

"Some orphaned hatchlings are scattered into the winds were other clans rear them, somehow they retain the manner of those they were sired from. Whatever they are reared to be will never hide the way they are meant to be." Ian answered. Although he did not mean to say these things, he realized that the Witchblade was wording what he longed to saw as metaphors. The dream wasn't a meaningless gesture she put forth, it was all a hidden vision. Nottingham really was saying all he wanted but did not dare. "I have to kill to eat, as much as I loath the thought, but I must eat for dragons kill… We have a long journey ahead. Let us not waste all our chatter on the ground."

Nottingham opened his great black wings and at once he felt them fill with the power of the wind. He gave a running leap and started flapping. A breeze caught his wings and lifted them into the air. 'I never had a lesson…'Ian thought dryly.

"Wow!" Sara gasped holding on to a ridge of scales at the base of his neck. "This is what it's like to be a bird!"

"If you wish, we can do this forever…"he said wistfully as the wind's invisible arms lifted them higher as he approached the mountain range. Falcons and hawks swooped past, frightened by such a large intruder. "We could be inseparable…" the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. But they were said, the Witchblade approved the statement..

"If only, Dragon…" Sara sighed somberly. Aimlessly she ran her fingertips over his vertebras causing him to shiver beneath her touch. "You know that things are bound to work against a companionship like ours," she answered. 

"Yes, that I know," he murmured. "And if that is an impossible dream, you are of a rare sort of mortal, I will always be at your bidding."

"Your allegiance after simply meeting me?" she gasped. "How can you totally know me from one encounter?"

"My lady, I have seen you when you have never seen me. You are made of the goodness which the world is slowly turning against with each setting sun. I admit that I am evil because I am a dragon, but I see that you are one who is to be respected by all because of the power and benevolence you wield."

"You admire my integrity then?" Sara questioned. Something in her voice sounded disappointed.

"Yes, and you, yourself, my Lady," Ian said softly diving lower as the last mountain was behind them and gave away to farm land crops. "A maiden who bears a sword and wears lace is as uncommon as a blossom in winter."

Sara buried her face against his dark scales. He could feel the hot blush on her cheeks. "Thank you, Dragon…" she whispered. "Not very many people would say that to me."

For a long while she said nothing more, which meant a thousand unspoken words. Ian was closer to her then he had been in the long months he had known her. Just being with her was better then the whole of his existence. She brought out something in him that no one else would care to see but her, humanity. Nothing gave any hint that Conchobar was there in her memory at all. Ian Nottingham, beneath the flesh and bone of the beast was happier then he had ever been since the pagan murders that brought the meeting of Sara and the Irish singer who stole her heart. No thoughts of him were here in her subconscience.

'What does that mean? Has she forgotten him?'

"Ask not such things," the Witchblade breathed in the shadows of his mind. "If thou are meant to have this knowledge, you would know…"

They passed over a lake that was in the center of a dark wood. More abruptly then he would have liked, he stopped in mid air. A sharp burning sensation zinged through Ian senses. Something was down there hidden in the safety of the forests green trees. The thrashes of air filling his wings and physical noises of Sara were the only sounds that met his ears. It was positively discomfiting. No birds were on the wing and not a resonance came from below, not even the humming heartbeat of a tiny field mouse. Only a disturbing quiet, only the noticeable presence of death. A smell of something he could not describe made his nostrils flare, a low growl rose from his chest. He circled around looking frantically below to see what caused such a commotion to his being. Nothing but the long expanse of the forest was visible yet that was not settling. The menace was hiding and obviously saw them before they knew it was there and was going to come closer until it could attack. 

Sara held on tightly her heart thudding in his ears and looked about them to see what had alarmed him. She did not see anything amiss either but recognized there something was wrong. "What's the matter?" she asked softly, fearing that the unseen threat would hear. "Are we being threatened?"

Ian heard the bracelet ripple and murmur on Sara's wrist, it too agreed that there was danger.

"I am not sure, we should leave quickly. Hold on fast, my lady," Nottingham gave a beat of his wings. 

The trees below bent and groaned by the gust he made. In response to his tumult in the forest, a hiss rose up to his ears that was mixed with a braying roar. Then silence, for a breath followed by four large thuds and the odd noise again. It repeated his again, whatever it was, it was advancing, deliberately. A shudder threatened to break over him, but Ian, the trained assassin in the dragon, made his body stay still and not act upon fear. Instead with all of his strength, Ian propelled his body forward slicing through the air with each mighty beat of his dark wings. The scenery whizzed beneath them. A high mountain came closer, its peak was hidden in the clouds. Ian slowed. "Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine." She managed holding tightly to his neck laying flat against the expanse of his shoulders. "What was down there?"

"I know not. But we're safe, now. Just ahead is our destination."

"Oh," she answered. There wasn't any readable expression in her exclamation, but Ian felt disappointed that they had come to this point now. 

'This dream is suppose to mean something, but I can't decipher it. Witchblade, what are you trying to tell me?'

"Close your eyes, open your mind!" the gauntlet answered.

Nottingham flew up to meet the top of the mountain. To his surprise, it wasn't pointed, it was flat. Closing his wings, he glided lower till his hind feet touched down followed by his fore feet. With an experimental sniff, he tested the air. It was safe...the stench was not there. Being a dragon has its advantages, he thought with mild amusement. Ian's thoughts turned to Sara and the startled silence that fell between them. "I'm sorry our flight became rough, milady," he said softly, raising a paw to help her to the ground. "Did-did I harm you?"

Sara looked up at him, his reptilian face was mirrored in her eyes. "No harm came to me… I'm sure the ride is better then what we could have met there at the lake," she answered giving him scratch behind his ears while it was in her reach. "Your company made me feel safer."

A fog rolled around the plateau like mountain. Out of it shapes became recognizable. Animals like those in legend came to greet their guests. A griffin no bigger then a Labrador trotted forward, his raptor eyes were yellow and bright, friendly. The other strange animals stayed back cautious. There was uncertainty and awkwardness you could cut with a knife.

"Greetings! We have been expecting more company but with the threat of death many have not come here," he chirped. For a moment he turned to the creatures still hidden in the mist. "They are friends. No harm will come to us."

"You are young! You know not of who is the enemy!" a voice hissed.

"You don't know either!" the griffin snapped. He turned to Ian and Sara, "Forgive my friend, we are victims of a crisis."

"What crisis?" Ian asked, wary. Sara moved closer to him her blowing hair tickling his ear.

"We are in dire need of a warrior!" a satyr answered in a frustrated whimper. "We gather here to hold council. Only the special few mortals may come. I hope your dragon escort has made a wise decision to bring you… come listen..."

"They cannot be trusted. She's mortal…" a wolf growled coming near but lagging back. "Mortals are not reliable especially women the most treacherous of the breed." Behind the speaking wolf his pack barked and paced. The lead wolf came up to Sara but stopped when he was three feet away, his nose sniffing the air. The wind blew at Sara's back, it was only a heartbeat till the wolf jumped away turning to the other animals. "Her smell is wrong! My friends, she's a witch!" The pack came around him, ready to follow their captain's direction. The situation could get ugly.

Ian heard the dull thudding quicken in Sara's chest, she stepped back. The Witchblade hummed and glowed, she put her hand over her wrist trying to hide its light. Her fear was a bitter scent.

"I brought her here," Ian snapped taking a step toward them; a hot feeling rose in his throat along with his anger at the fact that they would possibly be suspicious of Sara's sincerity. The griffin gave a yelp and covered his eagle head in his paws with the satyr crouching behind him. The wolf's ears fell close to his head and his lips drew back to show rows of gleaming teeth even as he retreated. Fury made Nottingham's head ache. "The lady can maybe help you… Though I'm not sure why she would aid a band of distrusting-" He was cut off my the touch of Sara's hand behind his ear. The anger subsided instantly.

"Please, Dragon," she whispered softly, but urgently. "Please, no fighting. They are no match against us. I-I have a strange feeling about this.."

"Creatures, please," Sara said aloud. "I mean you no harm!" She held her arms outward showing she held nothing. Ian moved close behind her not taking his eyes from the wolves. 

"Hollow words, woman," the wolf growled. "You wear the gauntlet of the witch. I smell dark magic in your veins. She will be the death of all!" he howled. The pack, came close.   
Ian saw them move around trying to surround them. 'They're aren't enough to defeat us. But they could easily hurt Sara.' With a short swing of his tail, he sent young pups close flying. 

She was about to speak when her body went completely stiff. Her eyes stared blankly forward, wide not seeing anything before her. The hand of the wrist that held the blade came over her mouth. It only took Ian a moment to realize that she was seeing visions. In his preoccupation, the lead wolf pounced.

Sara awoke from her trance too late, to fight off the fangs of the alpha male wolf, easily they clamped into her upper arm. He snarled and pulled back trying to tear at the flesh that was in his jaws. She gave a loud screech, as the clatter of armor announced the metamorphosis of the gauntlet.

Ian rushed forward. He had never eaten anything live with fur as far as he could remember. Even in the Black Dragons, when they were abandoned in a distant wood for a week and he ate insects, Nottingham had never even thought of doing such a thing. But now he was ready and willing to eat the wolf whole. He was about to do so when again, Sara intervened.

"Don't!" she panted, gritting her teeth. "Wolf, let me go or so help me I'll gut you now. That is your law isn't it? Kill or be killed? I do not want to kill you, I want to help but if you want to battle, then I'll be willing to give you a fight." She showed the gauntlet to the slanted yellow eye that was looking up at her with contempt. It became a long connected sword, "I can imagine that is not want you desire."

Slowly, the wolf withdrew his teeth. Sara groaned and staggered back. Ian let her lean against his scaly arm. Under his nudging, she rolled up the sleeve of her dress. The puncture wounds were deep. He glared at the wolf who retreated, licking his chops. "Why did you do that, milady? That looks serious…"

"I-I'll be okay in a moment…" she answered, gripping the oozing wound. The blade glowed and Sara gave a hiss of pain as the injury closed itself. "They need help, this," she gestured to the Witchblade, "says I am to assist them… Will you help me still?"

"I am, as always, at your service," Ian purred rubbing his chin on her shoulder very gently as she rubbed his jugular. "I won't let anything harm you again."

"Thank you," she mouthed as she once more addressed the animals. 

The griffin was standing on a rock his wings open threatening to fly away should the situation worsen. The satyr was not far off. A troop of ravens perched in the trees, looked down at the events below cackling quietly to one another in the tongue of birds. Centaurs pawed to the gathering.

"I mean you all no harm. I have heard that you all are threatened by a tyrant," Sara called out with an air of command as if she knew how to gain attention over a group.

Ian was amazed at the power she emitted. She lectured the beasts with the ease of a public speaker. Knowing that normally she would not be able to do such a thing without preparation, Nottingham knew the Witchblade was at work. 'Is this the kind of change that took place in Joan D'Arc? Is it making Sara do that or is it bringing out what hidden talent she already has?'

"I'm with the maiden," the griffin piped. He was backed up by a tumult of others who second his vote.

"My kind does not trust her," the Alpha Wolf snuffed. He turned away and lead his pack into the mist.

"You should fight the enemy at once!" a centaur bellowed. "We cannot have him among our lands much longer."

"I will do my best to save you all," Sara replied. "Where does your monster exist?"

"I know! I know!" the young griffin said pouncing from the rock to sit in front of Sara. "He lives in a forest not far from here by the icy lake Belle Mort. I can help, I know I can!"

Sara gave a smile and went onto her knees. "That is very thoughtful of you but I wouldn't dare risk your young life." She gave the little creature a hug. "The best assistance you can give is wishing the dragon and I a save journey." 

Ian felt abandoned somehow. Outside viewing this strange new Sara and being left out of her attention. As if the sun had stopped shining on him. When at last she looked at him, he was warmer then he ever remembered it ever being. 

"Are you ready to go on our quest, Dragon? Are you still willing to risk your life for my chosen cause?" her eyes were not as he thought they would be by her demeanor. It was the blade that was bringing about these surges of certainty pulling Sara along for the ride. The woman he saw under the cold metal of the gauntlet was afraid and unsure. Ian Nottingham could see now that the Witchblade wanted him to know that he was needed no matter how miniscule his role seemed. 

Sara thrived under his affirmation, the glow of light flared in her eyes. "Let us leave before we are followed," she breathed stepping up on his paw once more. With a running leap, Ian propelled himself into the wind. His dark black wings catching every gust. When the mountain was no longer in sight, she sighed. "Dragon?" her voice murmured.

"Yes, milady?"

"I-I'm frightened by what this gauntlet does to me. I see things that I no one else does. I-I feel so alone…" she gasped for breath no doubt fighting a sob. "I can trust the Witchblade I know, but…I'm afraid of what it might make me do… All those who I love cannot know of it or they will cast me aside and I will truly be utterly alone…" She gave a small gulp swallowing tears. "I don't know how I gained those animal's trust. I know that they would have normally killed me… I am glad I wield this weapon but… there are sometimes I want everything to be simple... I want to rely on someone…"

"You will always have me, maiden," Ian purred. "I will be with you."

"Thank you…" Sara breathed. "You say that so often… I think I can believe you."

A hawk flew out of the trees below springing in front of Ian's face. "Flee now!" he screeched. "The monster lives!" Without waiting another moment, he wheeled away higher and higher as if to touch the sun, till he was out of sight.

"The griffin told me that the creature lives in the lake we passed. It breaths fire and has three heads. The rest of his speech was whimpering and shuttering. I can only guess that we have a fight," she said. All too soon they came to the lake. The lake Belle Mort. Again Sara's heart thumped in her chest. The Witchblade clattered and her sight weight gained a bit. Her dress was now a suit of armor.

'Belle Mort… Beautiful death...' Ian translated without thinking. It didn't occur to him that he had never been formally taught the French language.

He hovered over the same quiet wood that surrounded the glassy lake. The disturbance earlier was not shown anywhere. Without asking he flew lower, once more the trees groaned and ached under the pressure of the wind beneath his wings but no other response came. Ian landed beside a fallen oak and quickly helped Sara off. 

"It's so still," Sara said glancing around her. "Do you think the monster moved on?"

"One cannot tell…" Ian was about to say but then the awful smell reached his nose. "It's here alright. I can smell him."

A low thud made the trees tremble. Sara held her breath thinking that it was her imagination until it happened again. The waters of the lake rippled. THUD! The sound was coming closer. She swallowed hard.

The Witchblade's gem glowed a hellish red and turned into its signature sword. "Let's go meet our enemy."

Sara stepped forward her armor clanked softly she gestured that they go forward to the source of the sound. Luckily for Ian, the forest was large and he managed to squeeze through the gaps between the trees which grew so incredibly high blocking the light of the sun. The black scales of Ian's body hid him in the shade. The only reminder to Sara that he was still there was the calculated footsteps that matched her own and the huge, long reptilian head that was close to her shoulder that breathed warm air that stirred the hair sticking out under her helmet. 

The footsteps stopped, and the humming of nothingness was one of the few things heard. The two did not say a word, only walked deeper and deeper into the somber forest. The farther they journeyed the darker it became. Soon Sara was led by Ian who was surprised to find that not only did he have heightened senses, flight capabilities but the ability to see in the dark. Again, she mounted him and they continued the trek. The burning smell was in the air once more, and the Witchblade glowed red painting everything its light touched a bloody red the more Ian walked the brighter it became.

Unexpectedly, the forest ended abruptly. Around was a desert that stretched as far as Sara could see. Ian on the other hand could hardly make out the smudge of green in the distance. There was no living thing in either of their sight.

"It's not here? Why is the gauntlet reacting?" Sara asked furious and confused. She slid from his back without assistance. "Have I misread its consultation?"

"Hush." Ian Nottingham wasn't listening, he closed his ears to what she was saying, and focusing on the strange sound that was closing in. It was familiar, but he couldn't say what it was. He heard it constantly during he and Sara's flight…

"What's wrong?" Sara questioned. The blade on her hand hissed.

"I hear something," he turned around and looked as far as he could into the forest.

"It's the sound of wings cutting the air…" Sara said, monotone.

"How did you-?" The words died on his forked tongue as he saw a shadow pass over the sun.

"Puny riff-raff! Who dares to pass the land of the chimera?" the creature roared swooping to the ground. It was a horrible and ironically beautiful monster. Its body was of a lion, sleek and rippling with muscles. One of two heads on its shoulders was that of a cat, next to it was the head of a enormous goat with large sharp horns that gleamed like diamonds in the sun. Upon its back, massive ebony feathered wings. The most horrid thing of all was the tail, or the lack of, were a tail should have been was a snake sprouting out of the last vertebrae at its rear. 

"Champion of the Witch's Glove!" Sara called up. "This land you call your own is stolen!"

A deep rumbling chuckled made the ground shake. "Pitiful woman, you dare to fight against me alone with a weapon you hardly know how to wield?"

'Alone? Does he not see me?' Ian wondered. It was a moment before he realized that he was still in the cloak of darkness of the trees. 

"I come not alone!" Sara snapped back. At her queue he stepped forward.

Again the chimera laughed. His feline eyes moved to his direction and Ian petrified as icy blue eyes pierced him. They were not strange to him, he had been under that same gaze before. "Why, hello little hatchling. I didn't expect you to live after you learned to fly… That must have been such a mercy. Poor little warrior, you but the student against his teacher."

"What?" she asked stepping away from Ian. "You are with him?"

The dream was now taking a fast turn and Ian Nottingham didn't need to read into it much to get the message that was being transmitted.

"Believe me, milady. Though I was raised by this odious creature I have no alliance with him," Sara stared into his eyes. "Please, please, trust me…"

"I-I do," She whispered putting her gauntlet clad hand on his shoulder. "But are you-"

"Then you both will have no problem in the after life together!" The chimera interrupted. Its lion head opened its mouth wide and flames sprang forth. They both scattered. The place they stood and trees surrounding it seconds before were ashes. The monster leapt to Sara, who threw herself into a roll and landed on her belly in the dirt to avoid being chard. While she was dazed, she had no idea what danger she was in and how close death loomed. Like lightening, Ian stood over her fallen body, nose to nose with both faces of the Chimera. Its four sets of blue eyes fixed on his own.

A predatory smile was on the lion head's lips. "You dare to fight against me, young one." "Me, who chose not to feed you to the vultures?" wickeder the goat head.

"You gave me no kindness, I may have been better off among the vultures," Nottingham snarled. Every scale on his back was erect, now points instead of smooth. "You never cared for me." 

"You didn't deserve it," the goat head bayed.

A hot feeling boiled from Ian's gut and rose to his throat. Following instinct, he threw all of his weight onto his tail, rearing. He opened his mouth and let loose a blaze into the chimera's two faces. It wheeled away and staggered turning completely away, vulnerable. With a side exposed, Nottingham used his dagger-like claws to slice across his abdomen. Ian's attention then moved to the black flapping wings that tried to take flight. 

"You fight dirty," the snake head hissed as it sprang to his throat. Forgetting about the third head, Ian didn't anticipate the move early enough. His wind pipe compressed under fangs on each side. The taste of his own blood filled Ian's mouth. If he pulled away, the snakes teeth would tare apart his jugular even more, but as it was he was helpless. Ian didn't resist, just stood as best he could on his hind quarters swaying from blood loss. 

Unlike any other dream he had experienced, this one was capable of giving pain. It was all too real. He was going to die now, wasn't he? 'Is this even a dream at all? Lady Witchblade, have I been abandoned to some reality I was meant to perish in? Sara, are you to die here as well?' A descending veil began to fall over his eyes.

Ian forced his dragon eyes to remain keen as he fought for conscienceness. Sara stood on the chimera's back. "I won't let you take him from me!" She gave a yell as the blade sliced off the snake's head.

Free of the painful grasp, Ian fell onto the dead land. All of his limbs were heavy and wouldn't obey his plea to move. His sight blurred until he could no longer see. But only hear the sounds of the battle. Utter fear was the only thing he felt. 'I cannot stay here, not while she fights. What will she do alone? I'm suppose to protect her as I always have…' times he had only hear of flashed across his memory interlocking like long lost puzzle pieces. 'My propose is to protect her!'

"Lady of the Witchblade!" he yelled into the darkness. His heart thudded and his senses were wild close to hysteria. "Let me be with her! Let me fight!" A rumble filled his ears, it was like a tidal wave. Whatever it, was it crashed over him, hauling him with it. Dragging him out into its sightless sea, powerless.

The curtain of black drew back and the burning desert sun was overhead. He sat up quickly with ease onto two legs, he was a human once more. The first thing Ian saw the fallen body of the dragon he was incased with. The massive muscled body was limp and cold. A shiver would have broken over him, had he not been conditioned to such sights, even the sight of "his" own corpse. He felt as though he was staring at a long time friend. The ground was littered with dark splotches where the land, parched from no rain, immediately absorbed the shed blood. He could not see where the battle had taken Sara and the chimera, but he followed the deep impressions of footprints. They were close until the Sara's small feet flew into a running retreat to the west. Nottingham propelled forward as fast as his armor clad body could take him, praying in every breath Sara would still be alive…if this wasn't a dream. His lungs burned but his concern wouldn't let him slow his pace, he HAD to get there.

"You killed my father, my kinsman, my mentor," Sara roared advancing, the blade flying. "and you slayed one of the rarest dragons to walk this earth! You killed all that I ever loved! Why would such a horrible beast be allowed to live so long?"

In her angry sprits of defense, she was fighting a loosing battle. When Ian, at last, arrived, she was exhausted. Her helmet was worn out, dented and useless but all the same on her head. Blood mixed with sweat trickled down the side of her head to her chin, staining the chain mail of her neck as well. She managed to wound the chimera, but not enough to slow the beast down to submission. The chimera knocked her off her feet more then once as Sara parried. The last time she could not bring herself to stand. The chimera opened both of its mouths and bore down, flames raining on her.

Somewhere, deep in the depths of himself, Ian heard his own voice, speaking in a foreign tongue, French. Time slowed. _Fire, eater of life and death swallowing without ever being satisfied… She burned right before me once long ago. Enveloped in an inferno of hate, never knowing my crimes, following me and trusting me with her life even when she told me of the disturbing truth the blade tried to show her... Jeanne refused to listen, she believed all of my lie out of love.. I let her be captured... I let her be persecuted… I let her burn…I alone knew the emotions flying through her mind as the flames licked higher… NEVER AGAIN will we do the same to her…_

Without hesitation, Ian Nottingham dove into the fire. It was so bright his eyes, like when he had looked at the sun, stung so much he had to close them. Blind, confused, angry and covered with metal that intensified the heat worsened his task. After a moment, breathing became hard. Sara could be dead by now from the fire eating away at the oxygen. The chimera could burn them forever if it wished, alternating between heads till both of them melted. 'Help me, my God! I must find her!' Ian called out mentally to anything that could hear his ardor plea. Something tugged hard at his ankles. Without questioning, Nottingham obeyed walking forward. His heart leapt as he came across a figure. Kneeling, Ian groped the ground, his gauntlet hand touched something hotter then the fire and hissed with a mouthless voice, the Witchblade! Sara was not conscience and didn't move under his touch. Ian's arms lifted Sara's curled up body off the ground and sped forward. The heat was inhuman and he could feel it all round him clawing at his armor and biting at his chain mail. His anger was that of a hundred ages past and the adrenaline was dizzyingly potent giving Ian inhuman strength. Within seconds, the intensive incinerator temperature was gone, a cool wind whipped over them.

Ian gently placed Sara to the ground, her face was tinged pink and stripped with charcoal smudges and little hair fine cuts. Sometime between collapsing and being rescued her helmet was lost, her hair was limp and singed with shades of black. Still she did not move. He leaned down his ear over her chest plate, with a sigh of relief he heard her heart beating. Ian moved to her face, no air came from her lips, her face was growing pale. Quickly, he tugged off the heavy helmet that blocked her face's access to his. This was not the way he would have liked to kiss her, even if it would be a kiss of life it would be against her consent. But knowing full that if the chimera would move any moment, Nottingham guiltily put his mouth upon hers forcing air to her lungs. At contact he felt an electric surge that tingled and stung with a pleasurable pain. He pulled away, no reaction. He repeated this again several times with each effort growing more frantic and amazed at his luck that the chimera hadn't charged. On his fifth time, his breath came back to him. Sara gave a cough.

"You live on still little witch?" the chimera roared with fury finding that he was fooled. "No matter."

Ian Nottingham stood up fitting the helmet once more on his head. Defiantly he Ian approached and gazed into the four icy eyes of the chimera, ancient words spilled from his lips. "Your quarrel is not with her, it's with me." He pulled the sword from his hilt and held it out, its blade shimmered under the beaming sun. "I am he who was thy servant in once carnation after another. I tire of your thy whims. I want to settle the account of mine soul. You raised me and I am not grateful for that. Let us fight now to the death, the winner keeps ownership of the mortal that is myself."

The lion and goat head both nodded with a smile. "Silly human. You know not what you say. I covet the blood of the Witch and the mystic gauntlet. Your life will mean nothing to me if it is taken. But truly, if that is what you desire…let us fight!" As before, the chimera gave a surprise jump pinning Ian's shoulders to the ground, the force created a pit. "You do your life no credit ending your life like this…pity."

Sword in hand Nottingham squirmed an arm free. He wanted blood. Not just any, this beast's. All of his pain rose to the surface like long dead corpses on a lake.

__

"John, the girl is a witch. She does not see saints, only demons…do not trust her. She will take your soul along with her own."

"Jeanne's piety is not feigned. How can you question her holiness?"

"Would the Lord truly let his servant be a maiden? And better yet a maiden barely seventeen summers? 'Tis the work of the devil. It would be better if she were burned…"

"Who would want the wench Cathain? Let her fight for her prince, she is not your concern. If she dies it wouldn't be thy dilemma.."

"She is enamored of a betrothed prince, she knows not her flaw if she leaves Cannamar."

"Cathain is not capable of love, she will kill Conchobar for his kingdom…Mark my words, I am a man of the world."

He saw her…she of many names of many different ages, before he of the same past. So close but always so far away. Both of either sides of the great divide of time and space with the many mortal divisions between those. So often they called to one another soul only able to meet echoes. Would they ever know love's permanent embrace? What could have been, would have been, but hasn't been... all things Ian had seen and heard.

Ian's head cleared and he was back to now. Without waiting another heart beat he plunged the sword into the Chimera's chest. It staggered back on to its hind legs. He's paws crumbled under his weight and he fell with a thud. "You broke your vows, Sir Knight…and now you live without repute.." the lion's head whimpered. "I was your master, your purpose is half filled…" the goat moaned. Then both blended voices whispering, "What kind of a monster do you think I am?" at the same time they lolled to one side. The chimera was dead.

Bruised and shaken, Ian climbed out of the chasm. A cloud came over the sun. When he pulled himself over the ledge Sara rose to meet him. Her chain mail and armor fell away to her green dress, as he saw her. The wind brushed past her, making her hair float off her shoulders. She was beautiful… 

"I thank you, Good Sir Knight. You have avenged so many deaths in your deed. Might I look upon the face of my champion?" Sara asked, reaching out for the latch of his helmet. She pulled the metal away from his head, his hair falling around his ears. Sara dropped the helmet that gave a clank and rolled. Across her face dozens of contradicting emotions played. "You?" was all she said. The sky darkened, the sun was no where in sight. Sara's dress melted into her jeans and leather jacket. Ian's armor was gone, it its place was his average black clothes. The glitter of fantasy began to fade. The dream was coming to an end. "You?" her simple speech cut to the core of his heart.

"Yes, it's only me, Sara," Nottingham whispered his eyes gazing up from his down tilted head.

"You?" she repeated, it echoed and bounced the word was hard and her eyes were wide but soft. A rumble of thunder was in the distance.. Disappointment, relief, horror, joy, happiness, sadness, anger and serenity: all of them intermingling in the swirling sea of her eyes. "I was speaking to a gentle soul… and all that time it was you?" she whispered trying to give her smug smile, tears brimming, about to spill over.

"I have always been with you. I know that I am not who you would want so close, but my intentions are good and I meant not to harm…but I know I'm doing that now." Ian murmured, his heart constricting as it had when she was crying over the dead body of Daniel Woo, the weight that made her house of cards tumble down. "I never meant to hurt you…ever." His eyes dropped from hers. "I just wanted to be with you…if only for a moment…"

"Nottingham," Sara whispered, "Please look at me."

Wordlessly he lifted his head, silently questioning.

"I…I," her lips mouthed but no words came as tears, sparkling diamond drops of emotion, trickle down her cheeks, washing away the soot and grime of the battle. 

They weren't needed, nor were the words she was unable to say. Ian stepped close to her and tentatively framed her face between his hands. She didn't struggle or pull away but stayed looking up into his eyes, searching for something in the darkness with only a lantern of hope to light the way. Blue eyes tried to hold in tears of empathy like any brave soldier but still they came. Softly, slowly he brought his lips to her cheek tasting the salt of her tears. "It's alright, Sara," Ian whispered his brow touching hers. Letting the gloved pads of his thumbs brush away the last of her sorrow. "It's alright…" he said again, remembering of a man who cooed such a thing to a little girl sobbing. "I will be with you and I swear I won't hurt you again…"

"But-" she began to protest in a soft sob that she would never finish because his mouth was on hers.

Ian had read about first kisses. The prince finds his princess, stone dead but she awakens with a caress of the lips. The Grimm Brothers spoke of lights and choruses of angels… Nottingham knew now they were wrong. It was better then any of those things. Better then anything he had ever known. Sweeter chocolate from Geneva, softer then authentic Chinese silk, richer then all the billions the world offered, stronger then a tropical hurricane… He was pulled away from all that he had known to a new level, paradise. As though Ian Nottingham was born with a hole inside him that was at last full, he was complete. The thing he had been searching for was within his grasp. Happiness could be his for the first time.

His lungs stung for air but he hardly had the will power to pull away. Sara's face was flushed, all the doubt was gone. Again Ian bent for another when a voice whispered, "it is time…"

"Longer, a few moments longer… please…" Ian mumbled brushing his mouth against Sara's who willingly put her arms around him.

"Already I have bought all the time that could have been purchased," the Witchblade lulled firmly but gently. "Come…" 

He closed his eyes tight against the tears and the pain of love found, realized and then lost in the next breath.

Rain pitter pattered on the fire escape. It was the first sound Ian heard. He opened his eyes to find himself on a stool next to Sara's bed where she slept, his upper body was leaning on the pillow, his face inches from hers. As quickly and silently as he could, Ian pulled back.

'How long have I been sleeping?' his gaze flickered to the little round clock on a nightstand. Only fifteen minutes have past. 'Did I-did I _kiss_ her?' he wondered bringing a hand to his lips. The thought of kissing her gave a rush. 'No… I only dozed…' To keep back his temptation Ian moved away from the bed. He found a pile of books strewn and left open faced on the floor obviously not done by Sara.

A search was probably taken when she disappeared from Chief Dante's line of vision. In doing that, Sara's flat was probably made more askew he realized for the first time and felt a bit guilty for mental criticizing her cleaning habits. Sitting cross-legged he stacked the books. Tolkein, Rice, Poe were under his fingers. 'She does have exquisite taste in reading.' Under them was a leather bound book lying prone on its face, spine up to the ceiling. Ian flipped it over to find a photo album.

__

Jim and Suzie '64 black writing announced with swirls and twirls of a woman's cursive. Above it was the same woman and man as the portrait, younger of course and Nottingham saw that they had been childhood sweethearts. It brought a little smile to his face. Adjacent to that was the woman on a couch holding a little thing wrapped in floral blankets. _Little Sara and "Mom" '72_. He noticed that there was writing along the margins between the pictures. "Little angel from above finally came down and gave us love. Sweet And Radiant Aways." Dwalled the writing. "A borrowed blessing I shall forever more call my own."

'It isn't right to look through her belongings…' Ian's conscience scolded but the pull of getting to know about Sara was all the more stronger.

He flipped forward to see a little girl no older then nine at her fathers side holding up a big fish proudly. There wasn't a date. The smooth writing that was on the first page was gone. 'It must have been written by her mother,' Ian speculated. It was a page later another writing took its place printed and bold narrating the adventures of "Little Sara" as the pictures often wrote. It was a forever he wandered through the photos. She didn't play with dolls, she was active in sports. Snap shots of soccer practices and softball tournaments were abundant. Watching the girl grow before his eyes as if he had been there. 

__

Ian stopped short as his eyes reached another sports filled page, on side was of green fields and running girls the other was far different. _Sara's Dancing Lessons '85. _Feeling as if he was getting into more then he should, Ian at last closed the album and put it on top of The Return of the King . One lonesome picture fluttered out of place. It was in black and white, taken from an old camera but the people in it weren't so old. A memory he hadn't thought of in years came to the surface of his mind.

A concert, Woodstock 2 to be precise… He came home because his regiment was going to be relocated, again for the third time that year. While the officers did the paper work, he and the other soldiers were sent on a holiday back home. Nottingham remembered being so incredibly happy to see New York again. He felt more at home on the streets then anywhere else, his mind had been disturbed by dreams and thoughts Ian needed to be home to calm his restlessness. The same year, someone decided to redo a "summer of '69" in '91. Ian had never been to a concert, especially a three day concert. The opportunity was not one to be missed. 

He had gone against Irons's will refusing to listen to his speech that began, "Modern music is a waste of a system that was brought up by geniuses. No decent person would want to go to such a bohemian glorifying spectacle." 

The music and air was that of freedom… "Hey, do you wanna dance?" she asked, startling him. Nottingham didn't refuse. Not after the time he spent with her, it was his last chance.

As fast as he could, Ian ripped the picture in two and shoved it into his pocket. Even when he pulled his gloved fingers away he could feel the photo between them, it burned in his pocket. He turned to the window and watched the rain bounce off the iron fire escape trying not to think of anything at all. Especially of what could have been and what was.

Sara rolled over onto her back and a comforting smell came over her. COFFEE, the best part of waking up. 'My god, I could use some of that. A nice steamy cup to get the work day going. Then I'll go to work and then hopefully Danny won't bean me for getting some java without him..' as the thoughts mindlessly swirled around she realized that those days weren't around for her to enjoy. Holding back tears she opened her eyes.

Sunlight fell onto the floor from the window, just looking at it burned her eyes. 'Damn… What the hell did I drink?'

"You shouldn't move too quickly, Sara. The sedative still has you weakened," Nottingham's voice said from what sounded like the kitchen.

Squinting, Sara opened her eyes. The psycho had drugged her. Who knows what happened. She shivered. The thought of looking into his face came then desiccated when the smell of coffee again assaulted her senses. On the night stand there was a cup of coffee. Still hot. The smoke danced into the air taunting her. 

Cautiously she lifted the cup to her lips, then paused against the need to gulp down every steamy drop. "What's in it, Nottingham?"

"Nothing but what's suppose to be in coffee," He answered taking advantage of the fact that her eyes were mostly close by looking unrestrained at the way she looked waking up. The way her hair frizzed out more then usual but all the same beautiful and wild like herself.

"Can I take your word on that? How do I know its not drugged, Nottingham?" Sara held the cup out to him. "Take a sip."

Her lack of trust stung. Ian remembered with awesome clarity how trusting she was in his dream. The fact made it clear that he had been dreaming when he kissed her. Reaching out, careful not to touch her, Nottingham took the cup. Giving it a little blow, he took a sip. He didn't drink coffee as much as he would like to. That luxury for some reason he couldn't name was denied from him. The occasional drink was always welcomed. "I prefer Starbucks brand but I couldn't find any," he said handing the mug back to her.

Sara held it between her hands, but didn't drink. Blue eyes gazed at his, the expression was asking for something.

'Does she really not trust me so much?' "I'm not immune to iocane, Sara. That would be the only poison that I could put in there without a taste or smell. Do you want me to drink it all if you still doubt?" he said before she could speak.

She stared at him incredulously, for a second hurt flickered across her face. Unsure if he saw it, she tried to mask it with indignation. 'Were those tears sparkling in her eyes as she blinked hard?' "I was going to ask you if you could get some Irish creme," she said softly. "But I suppose I could kill you when you turn your back," Sara tried to snap, but her attack lacked stamina.

'Sara isn't all that she seems. I finally hit a large chink in her armor… She fears to trust because in return she isn't trusted. Or in, a different perspective, Sara doesn't know how to deal with other people… Who would teach her to be so unwilling to show her real self? People like me. Getting close, then giving a little sting setting everything worked for to rubble.' Guiltily and wordlessly Ian retrieved the coffee creamer from the small store like refrigerator and took a tea spoon out of the drawer. The set them before her on the nightstand that was now working as a mediator to their wishes to not have any physical contact, both for different reasons.

He didn't watch as she drank her coffee. Looking down at the streets below, Ian mentally berated himself. "I-I suppose I deserved that, Nottingham," Sara muttered, her tone wavering a bit. The teaspoon chinked against the side of the cup as she stirred. "Its not that I'm not a morning person. Quite honestly, I'm not sure why you don't treat me like a b*tch-"

"Perhaps it's because you aren't," Ian found himself saying, "because I know that you are capable of acting differently." He turned from the window to see her sitting on the edge of the bed staring into the light brown liquid.

"You know that I may end up fighting you, Nottingham-Ian," she paused her face darkened with despair, "Somehow, for all that you are, I have a feeling that you don't deserve it," Sara stopped again she looked to a far corner of the room staring at some unseen thing. "I'd really, hate to kill you," she whispered, she stifled what seemed like a yawn.

He came close, very close. Towering over her sitting form, blocking the sunlight of the window. She closed her eyes tight even though there was no light to hurt them. Her eye lashes were damp, not from yawning. Sara lowered her head. Her hair, supported some what on her shoulders fell against her face, concealing it. She felt a leather glove brush her face, tucking the offending strands behind her ear. "You will not be the one to kill me, Sara. Don't waste your tears on such a thought," Ian murmured. "If I were to die… I would be honored to leave this world with the knowledge that you have the decency to say something like that." He didn't, more accurately, couldn't move his hand from her face. It rested on her cheek. Oh, if only he could feel through the glove to caress her smooth skin. "Je t'aime toi, mon seulment," the words that slide with ease through his lips were those that had been spoken hundreds of times, but the meaning and intensity had never altered between any of those intervals. Nottingham didn't even think about them, something, someone inside him took control for a moment.

Had they ever been this close before? Yes, they had. Their talk in the alley... Nottingham standing behind her. The odd feeling he evoked just being so near. "Bloodlust is a powerful thing," he had said. 

Did her skin ever feel as it does now with his breath touching her face?

Through the leather glove, she was surprised to find heat. Until about now she never though of him as a real person. He couldn't be real. He was too loyal, too dangerous, too strong: utterly too perfect. "I-don't understand…" Sara whispered as her eyes slowly opened and looked searchingly into his. 'Did I ever even notice they had such a unique color?' 

"Neither do I, Sara," Ian answered back drawing away. She wasn't ready for what he wanted to tell her. There wasn't any time or place for their love. If he told her now, she wouldn't understand… and if she did? There would be too many pains for her to take. There was just that night for everything. And now it was slipping away. With the morning he would be gone. Savoring the last few minutes, he looked at her, challenging the depths of her magnificent eyes. 

"I-I should be going soon," she said awkwardly not taking her eyes from his.

"You should," he echoed. Gabriel would be waiting for her. Ian wanted to tell her he knew but she would not take to the information without being suspicious.

Slowly, teetering a bit, Sara made her way to the kitchen, and, not as gently as she could have normally, placed the empty mug in the sink. "Thanks, I needed a bit of sleep. Maybe…I could pay you back…" When she looked up. Ian Nottingham was gone, the window was drawn open. The sun was now climbing up higher and a breeze shook the blinds. She put on a bit of a smile, it hurt to fake it but she felt like she should. Why shouldn't she revel in his absence? As much as she tried, and she didn't know why she resisted the sensation at all, Sara couldn't shake the feeling that in the short priceless moment he stood over her, with his hand on her face, she felt complete. "Je t'aime toi, mon seulment," Sara whispered to no one at all. The words were sweet on her tongue.

Sara gave an effort to laugh, but none came. She busied herself with changing her clothes, (no time to shower…first thing later!) pushing away what ailed her. Lastly, zipping up her jacket, Sara took one long hard look around the room. Everything stood in its place. Nottingham didn't touch a tangible thing, but she felt like he had taken something vital. What happened these last few hours? Sara looked at the Witchblade. It lay quiet on her wrist. She grabbed her keys slowing moving to the door.

Something was going to happen today. Sara could feel it. It was morning now. The night was over, her dreams had to be forced into the back of her mind, and she couldn't be troubled by those sort of things. 

Disappointment fell hard onto her shoulders, as she locked the door (even though she was sure half the police department owned one of her keys). What did she expect from a visit from Nottingham? Nothing but more questions, awkward silence, barely meeting eyes, hidden meanings like always... What did she expect? Something small, forgotten and unheard, whispered, "a kiss." Sara, hearing the thought, didn't brush it away. It didn't seem right to do such a thing.

Fini 

Coming soon: With and Without You the proverbial sequal to Ian Nottingham's Lady Sara of the Witchblade for more information please give an email m.shields@angelfire.com 


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